"EVANGELINE ADAMA BIRKLINE, I am beyond disappointed in you!"

We sit in the dim lighting of the living room. The clock is ticking louder than ever as it strikes eleven thirty and the sticky heat of the summer atmosphere isn't helping.

My father won't even look at me.

I can't even look at my mother.

"I had to do something! What if she's in danger?" I say, gripping my skirt as I stare at the floor, tracing the interloped tile design.

"For goodness' sake, it's not about the damn child! How could you sneak out under our noses like that? You know what this family is like workwise; What if you were kidnapped?"

"Do you think that girl's parents think the same way? Worried sick?"

My mother's response to my unintentional sarcasm is a slap right across the face. Her diamond ring only misses my face by a centimeter or two.

It wouldn't be the first time. But I know better now. This circumstance has certainly been an eye-opener.

I hang my head low, as I usually do, and wait to hear my mother's disapproving huff as I slowly walk away as though ashamed. Instead of actually going upstairs, I stamp one foot on the wooden step, decreasing the volume of each stamp gradually to make it seem as though I were walking away.

Then I wait, peering through a small part of where the wall becomes a sharp line at the turn of the corner.

"I seriously don't know what I'm going to do with this girl, Thomas." My mother sighs, setting down a slim champagne glass.

She retrieves a bottle of her vintage Dom Perignon, and pops open the bottle, a hint of vapour escaping its lips.

My pupils trace their direction until they disappear, morphing with the rest of the environment, before drawing to the glass again. The transparent, gold liquid trickles into the glass, a burst of bubbles turning into foam as they climb to the top.

"Well, you've only one." My father remarks, still not glancing up from what seems to be a rather engrossing newspaper. I can't tell what the headline is from where I'm standing, but it must be good if it's got him putting out such a fat cigar so early.

"Now is not the time for stupidity." My mother responds sharply, juxtaposing the way she almost lovingly traces her lipstick stain on the glass cup. Suddenly, she turns to him. "What if she found out? Then what?"

For the first time tonight, my father looks up, irises darting rapidly in disarray. "Well, it would be about damn time, Marie!" He stands so abruptly from his seat, the chair rocks backward.

My heart is pounding in my ears and it's making it borderline impossible to hear and understand what it is going on. I've just never seen my father so angry before.

"I'm tired of this! I'm tired of-of hiding things and shutting this down and that! She deserves a better life! She deserves an actual childhood-"

"Enough!" She exclaims, punctuating her orderly yelp with a slam of the glass onto the marble tabletop. "E-Enough talk about this and that."

She dismisses his words with a flustered wave of the hand, closing her eyes tightly shut as if it would erase my father's words from her memory.

Grasping him by both, broad shoulders, she says, "Let's sleep on it, okay? For now, things better remain as they have been- with Evangeline knowing no more than she should know."

My heart beats even faster, adrenaline flushing through my veins causing my hands to shake and beads of sweat to form on my forehead and palms. Come on, dad, I think to myself (pray, even) fight back.

Her rouge-painted lips meet his and they embrace one another. Sickened by their toxicity, I choose this to be the moment to retreat to my safe place- my bedroom.

It's a few doors down from the landing which does nothing for the anxiety that perils me, but the buttery fuzz feeling of the familiar cashmere rug between my bare toes relaxes me almost instantly.

I rush over to my incense kit and burn a lavender scent to calm me down and after a well-deserved soak in the bathtub, I sit on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest.

Tears undeniably fall as I now know that being watched, here, at least, matters not the most right now. I just have so many questions.

What are my parents supposedly hiding from me? They've never been open about their lives, I'll bet a few cinema tickets on that, but what could possibly be so terrible that my mother would whip out the Dom?

It was a 'gifted piece of cheap' as she called it, so she stowed it away in a cabinet she only ever keeps for 'cheap giveaways'. She never uses the pieces of cheap.

But then again, this is the only time I've stayed back long enough to witness an abnormal interaction between them both. Typically, I'd imagine my father to be more in charge- as he usually is- but what I've witnessed shows me otherwise. He was weak under her lace-gloved command.

Worst of all- Tommy. Such a handsome face cause so much disarray in one girl's small head.

Frustrated, I tug at the strands of my hair that trail from where my headscarf falls short. Since the day I met him, he was charming, and while I have that tendency to reject his advances, surely, I would have eventually given him a chance?

Not anymore. Not after tonight.

Instead of facing my feelings, I turn to my guiltiest guilty pleasure of them all.

I have barely any recollection of my childhood, but I recently discovered what is titled as my childhood journal and I relive my experiences through each entry. It rekindles whatever feelings must have been tied to them and makes me feel all the more real. Like I actually exist.

He's done it again. He keeps tugging on my arms whenever we sneak off the carnival rides and he never knows when to let go. I'm trying to look for more opportunities to tell him the truth, but it's getting harder and harder.

His warm, dark eyes have never been anything short of accepting, and I won't lie and say I don't enjoy the feeling of his polite cheek kisses.

He's everything anyone could want and more.

So why can't it just be that way for me?